Now that Hip-Hop’s been commercialized… I mean, grown into global acceptance, has anyone else besides me stopped listening to what’s new? Does anyone else remember when ‘droppin’ gems on ‘em’ was an emcee’s theme that didn’t involve flashing gaudy jewelry at us?

Our cultural vehicle of speech is now driven by corporate influence. Is it worth spreading Hip-Hop around the world at the cost of its potency? This is a little too depressing for me, so I’m going to switch topics.

Chrysler recently released the new 300 – if you haven’t seen it, it’s like the working man’s Bentley. When I first saw this car, it became my secret mission to own it. I carefully screened my friends and family to see who could appreciate it before I talked openly about it. Months before it made it’s public debut, I watched and researched it. I felt like I’d stumbled across some great treasure.

But alas, those days have long since faded. I see it advertised in TV commercials. I see it driven by folks who I KNOW couldn’t have appreciated it the way I did. Granted, I still love the look of the ride, I can’t help but feel jaded now that everyone and their momma is sittin’ in the passenger seat. Chrysler 300, you’re the love of my life.

“Hip-Hop Cockpit Stops”

Why is it that everyone sounds the same now

As if they’re spittin’ vowels out of the same mouth?

Originality’s gone down way south –

the quickest way to clout destroyed it years ago.

What makes it worse are the fans added

That don’t appreciate rhymes as they ride the bandwagon…

It’s left me sad and maddened –

what folks praise these days isn’t even lyrical.

Allow me to make a euphemistic effigy.

Today’s bandwagon is a uselessly twisted F machine.

It’s a d*ck with invested teams – an entourage of muffed riders.

To these groupies, I’ve written what follows –

Some tips for those who’ve bitten the bait and swallowed…

You’ve hit the base and wobbled –

gobbling up rap scraps that scuff the underside of the real empire.

You crotch disc jockeys

Are more obvious than Liberace.

You’re so quick to switch and copy the offbeat.

You’re too impressionably soft and sweet.

You look so incredibly awkward in the street…

So please, take off the white tee and stop bitin’ with false teeth.

It’s pitiful, you don’t know what’s lyrical –

just choruses and who wrote ’em.

Your backside’s got blisters so plentiful I call ’em ‘rodents.’

You’re hordes hoardin’ horse d*cks and scrotums –

you’re just along for the ride.

To you, this is a game – like equestrian musical chairs.

You meddlin’ pedestrians were once musically impaired…

You used to be unusually scared –

I remember when rap lyrics were too long and strong for your hinds.

Watered down now, when you catch wind of the newest rap trend,

You pass it around between you and your truest, wack friends.

I don’t care if you’re White, Jewish, Black, women or men –

research Rap’s real culture and history.

I hate the way you’ve jocked and hopped on

Hip-Hop’s cock as of recent –

You’ve rode nouveau waves on top of the charts in legions…

You weren’t around when it wasn’t in season –

to me, you’re the epitome of our culture’s stupidity.

With each new, lukewarm, ill-gotten fad,

You reach with lewd, newborn, thrill-throbbin’ hands.

You reek of crude, too worn, silk stocking jock pads –

I can see straight through your gay maneuvers.

Packaged properly, you’ll ride the road thin

On any vehicle left shinin’ in the open…

This vehicle of rhyming’s not for groppin’ –

So stop stalkin’ Hip-Hop like the fan that never knew her.

Stop acting all hot in the pants.

She’s not some whore for your one-night stands.

This is more than a rhythm to ride and dance –

you bring new meaning to the term ‘crotch rocket.’

Every time the top picks are dropped in,

You’ve gotten the topic and copped it…

As you blindly mount what’s fresh on the market’s docket

with the tiniest amount of hot profits.

You look like you’re hookin’ –

you do so many d**k swaps that you could be called Hitchcock.

What did you do, sit and watch Hip-Hop ’til it got stiff and hot –

Waiting for the next big custom to come undone

from its sum of seconds?

You’re like a closet nympho – you’re so ridiculous.

You don’t get excited to ride it ’til you’ve seen how big it gets…

That’s when you decide to sit on it and ride ’til it’s painfully unpleasant.